White Raven, The Tayledras Mage
by Bandersnatch202
Summary: Having your own village turn on you when you suddenly develop the Mage-gift is surprising enough. But when your carried away to the legendary Hawkbrothers, it's enough to make any young lads head spin. (Will contain romance eventually)


This is my first Mercades Lackey fic, I hope you will enjoy it, and give me many reviews. It may seem short now but I plan on making it quite a bit longer, about the length of one of her books. Okay maybe not _that_ long, but you get the idea. Anyways, for the first couple chapters the title will make no sense at all, but I assure you it will eventually. So without further adue, I give you chapter one of "White Raven, The Tayledras Mage"

Chapter 1: Accusation

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Why oh why are they chasing me! This thought was most prominent in Tyro's mind as he ran from the horde of angry villagers that he had once called kin.

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I was just trying to help that man, I don't even know what I've done! The young boy ran with all his strength, his chest heaving, his lungs afire, and he didn't even know why he was running. All he remembered was seeing the farmer working beside him suddenly collapse, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head and his limbs convulsing. Tyro didn't know what to do, but he dropped down beside the poor fellow and tried to shake him out of it, hoping that he was doing the right thing. Suddenly he had felt like something clicked into place inside of him and his hands began to glow with a shining white aura. It was then the screaming started.

It had begun with Father Denard shouting something about demons and possession, and soon it seemed as if the entire village had taken up a single mind and a single voice, all crying out "demon". Then began the pursuit, they were chasing him through the village, people he had once called friend were now hounding for his blood. He didn't know what to do, he was lost in a maze of his own fear, running without sense, without thought. That's what led to his capture. He turned a corner and found himself facing a stone wall, his eyes wide he turned to run back the way he had come and found himself facing the mob. Leading them was Father Denard, his cruel face twisted into a sneer of malevolent delight as he pointed right at Tyro.

"There he is!" Father Denard shouted, "The Demon-child, he is possessed by the darkness that has slipped through the Forest of Sorrows! His soul must be saved before the demon within has time to corrupt it. Burn the demon! Destroy its hold on the poor lad's soul! Cleanse his spirit with fire!" The villagers all reached for him, thousands of hands grabbing him, dragging him through the crowd to the center of town, where there stood a pole, swiftly erected. Around the pole was kindling and timber, gathered hurriedly and arranged around the funeral pyre. Tyro was dragged and pushed forward despite his protests.

"Listen not to the child! The demon has taken power of his voice, it screams for its own salvation. Quickly, purge the child's soul before he is damned for all eternity!" Father Denard shouted as some of the villagers began to loosen their hold on him. Tyro used their momentary weakening to try and break free from them, but was grabbed once more and pushed forward towards the wooden stake. As the villagers bound him to the pole, Tyro looked frantically for his family, hoping they could save him from this madness. When he finally did find them amidst the crowd of shouting and leering peasants he yelled for them.

"Father!" Tyro shouted. "Father please help me! Tell them this is foolishness, I am no demon I'm your son. Please father, help me!" He cried, but to no avail. His father stood, stone-faced, staring straight at him with fearful, wavering eyes. Father Denard was beside him, while his sisters consoled their weeping mother. He looked to the left of them to see his two older brothers being held back by the crowd, each straining to break free and help their younger sibling.

"Do not be swayed by his pleas Bowen, it is the demon not your son that speaks. You must save young Tyro's spirit before he is a mark upon your family's honor." Father Denard's vile words penetrated his father's ears and set his eyes. To save his son's soul he must first destroy his son's body.

"Fire! Bring forth a torch so that we may burn away the demons power!" Father Denard shouted, and the crowd responded, bringing forth a lit torch, it's flame licking and burning hungrily. Father Denard took it in his hands and presented it to Bowen. "By your hand, let your son be saved." Bowen glanced from the torch to his son and back again, then with a face of anger he glared up at the priest.

"You ask that I put my own son to the torch? Outrageous, he may be possessed but he is still my son. You speak of a mark on my family's honor, well burning my own son at the stake would be one I think!" He shouted at the startled Father, who recovered quickly.

"Bowen that thing up there is no more your son than I! The demon which possesses your child is ruling his body and mind, and if not killed swiftly will soon rule his soul as well, damning him for all eternity, do you not see that you must save him before it's so late?"

"Still, you cannot expect me to light the pyre of my own son, it's unthinkable!"

"Then I shall have to do it myself!" Father Denard cried as he turned swiftly and marched towards the struggling captive, bound tightly to the rigid log. His torch seemed to glow brighter as he brought it near, as if it could feel the kindling beneath it, wanting to feed upon it. Denard walked until he was right in front of Tyro, a wicked sneer on his face.

"Now demon, it is time that you die, plague our world no longer!" He cried holding the torch up high for all to see. Tyro's face was one of shocked and stunned misery, but he gathered enough courage to stare Father Denard in the eye.

"You just hate me, that's what this is all about!" Tyro exclaimed, as it finally dawned on him just why Father Denard seemed so pleased with the day's events.

"Of course I hate you. I hate all your kind demon!" Father Denard sneered, his face contorting into a mask of malicious glee. He brought the torch closer, holding it in front of his face, watching as he saw Tyro's eyes focused upon the flames, his very being consumed by the twisting and curling tongues of heat. His breath grew ever quicker, beads of sweat adorning his brow, his eyes wide with fear as he stared into the fire, unable to look away from the swirling conflagration that promised his doom.

Tyro's entire being was focused down on that one bit of flame, that spark of light that held his very life in the balance. He could not think, he could not breathe, all he could do was stare into the fire as it burned brighter and brighter, all his fear all his anger roared forth and plunged into the fire as he felt that something inside him click once again. Suddenly, the fire on the torch burst and spread, covering Father Denard's forearm with the now white-hot flames, then leaping and dancing through the air to land amidst the crowd and atop the straw-thatched roofs of the surrounding houses.

Father Denard screamed loudly as he beat at the flaming sleeve of his billowy robe, attempting to put out the fire that threatened to devour him. While all around him the villagers were caught up in a panic, trying to beat the flames off themselves and their houses, but to no avail. The fire spread and soon the entire crowd was running to and fro, some rolling about to put themselves out, others trying to help those who were engulfed in flames, and the rest stumbling towards the town well amidst the choking smoke as the fire bell began to toll.

The smoke rose in a large black column, blotting out the midday sun and covering the sky, though the light from the fire was bright enough to depict to Tyro the terrible horror that he had unleashed, as he saw the entire village engulfed in the flames of fear and rage that he himself had set into motion. He stared, wild-eyed and unable to move, as his own family rushed to help Father Denard who was struggling to his feet, the flames no longer licking at his robes. Then they speed off in different directions, running to help those with burning houses, leaving him tied to the stake as Father Denard picked up a flaming piece of timber that had fallen from a building. He stumbled towards Tyro, anger and hatred filling his being and fueling his soul as he clomped nearer, burning timber held high. Tyro's eyes filled with panic and he struggled in his bonds as the fear and anger began to take control again.

Then, from the wall of fire that raged throughout the village, a dark and shadowy shape leapt forth and struck down the startled Father Denard, knocking him to the ground. It then turned and pounced at Tyro, landing heavily upon the kindling surrounding the stake. Tyro gasped as the wolf-like creature thrust its head forward and snapped its jaws, neatly cutting through the ropes binding him. As he fell forward in shock, the creature angled itself so Tyro would fall upon its back, his hands instinctively gripping into the beast's rough fur. He felt a light touch in his mind and a strong voice echoing in his head.

:_Hold on tight_: Tyro heeded the advice and held on even harder as the coiled muscles beneath the dark fur sprung forth and launched the creature away from Tyro's former funeral pyre. When he landed, Tyro was jostled and nearly lost his grip, so he swiftly swung his legs up until he was riding the wolf-like creature bareback, digging in with his knees for a better grip. The creature ran and ran, the fire and heat not seeming to phase it in the slightest as it sped through the burning chaos of Tyro's once proud village and rocketed into the forest. Tyro felt the shock and fear catch up to him as he slipped into a deep and quiet unconsciousness, not noticing as the creature changed its stride and shifted its weight to ensure that he would not tumble from its back. The creature pressed on, running deeper and deeper into the forest, deeper than Tyro, or anyone from his village, had ever dared go.


End file.
